


Winners and Losers

by spindlekiss



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Chess, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spindlekiss/pseuds/spindlekiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this battle of hearts and scars, Erik is determined not to lose. </p><p>Charles doesn't care much what Erik is determined to do, and would much rather seduce than play games-- but could they be the same thing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winners and Losers

In a game of chess, the queen is considered the most powerful player.

 

 

“I suppose you think to tame me, Mr Lehnsherr.” said Charles Xavier, lying back, supine against the leather chaise. Erik found himself unsure as to wether Charles referred to the game, or something of deeper consequence, something Erik did not at current wish to consider.

Erik steepled his fingers, and stared studiously at the chess board that lay between them. He would not give Charles the satisfaction of being ogled-- beautiful though he was. “I wouldn’t dare.” 

Charles laughed. “Ah, Mr Lehnsherr. You do say the most amusing things. I think I shall move my king.” 

He did so. A risky move, mused Erik. The king was a stoic piece, and for it, change was oft a predecessor of danger. 

“Your move.” said Charles, smirking a little. Pink lips curled temptingly, like roses upon snow. 

Erik reined himself in, and focused once more, on the game. 

“I don’t suppose,” said Charles. “That you’ve engaged in a discourse with the lovely Miss Darkholme?”

Erik looked up at him seriously. “I have no intention of engaging with your sister, in discourse... or other matters.”

“That’s rather good luck on your part then, my friend. The lovely Raven has quite made up her mind to love the valet. It distresses Mother so.”

“Have a care how you speak, Mr Xavier.” said Erik seriously, Charles had never upheld the laws of etiquette in polite society with much regard-- a quirk both loathed by and troublesome for Erik, who found that without such guidelines and boundaries, he was wont to flounder. 

Charles laughed freely. “I refuse to care how I speak, I shall speak my mind.”

“You are too bold, sir.” said Erik.

“Am I?” replied Charles with some satisfaction, he looked very much like the cat that had finally gotten the cream.  

“Quite.” affirmed Erik with a nod. 

Charles carefully slid his queen into a position that would win him the game in less than three moves. “Then I shall be too bold once more, Mr Lehnsherr, and say that I find your... waist coat, very dashing.”

“Dashing?” Erik repeated, incredulous. 

“Rather.” said Charles.

He was lying surely, Erik had little reason to care for the fashions of high society, he wore sensible clothes, befitting a rich man in his position, but suitable still, for work in the fields. 

“Come now.” coughed Erik. “Let us talk no more on this foolishness, and return to the game.”

“I do so love games.” agreed Charles amiably, his eyes sparkled, and his own waist coat-- a silk thing that he had been informed was all the rage in London, glinted violet in the afternoon sun that dappled ever soft through the lace curtained window. 

Erik played his last rook, and tried to ignore the fae creature before him. For Erik, Charles had entered his life and seemed transient, like most of the beautiful things in Erik's life, he had expected the young man to fade away. Instead, since that fateful day the Xaviers had moved into the estate upstream, they had become great friends. 

Charles knocked the rook from play quickly, leaving Erik’s king defenseless. 

“Ah, look.” said Charles casually, as he knocked Erik’s king from the board with his queen. “I’ve taken you.”

Erik spluttered internally for a moment at the choice of words, no doubt Charles was playing the provocator on purpose-- that did not mean Erik was well enough equipped with the appropriate responses. 

Charles, who smiled at him languidly, did not seem to expect one anyhow.

Erik leant his arm stiffly upon the intricate wooden restings of the arm chair. He was quite contrasted by Charles’s own casualness-- the young man lounged across the chaise as though he were in his own home, and there was a look of debauchery about him more befitting of the gigolo’s Erik sometimes caught sight of in his travels to Paris. Erik himself, sat straight and stern. 

“I meant to tell you,” said Charles. “How very handsome a figure you cut on the hunt yesterweek, even Miss Frost remarked upon it-- she thinks you quite personable, striking even.”

“Does she?”

“Oh, yes.” replied Charles, stretching out like a lissom lover and resting his hands behind his head. The light played nice against his profile, illuminating his even nose and aristocratic brows. “Miss Frost thinks a great many things about you, sir.”

“And what, pray tell, could this number possibly be made out of. I have expressed no particular interest in Miss Frost, nor enacted any advances. I rather think my disregard should be something of a deterrent.”

“On the contrary, Mr Lehnsherr!” exclaimed Charles, sitting up and gesturing emphatically. “It excites her.”

Erik’s eyes widened minutely. They were speaking in riddles, true enough, but he wasn’t such a dullard as to misunderstand the thinly veiled meaning behind Charles’s speech. Something simmered between them. 

Charles leaned closer, across the scattered pawns and defeated king.

"Indifference is not by necessity insubstantial." Charles said seriously. "Though perhaps a clue, as to how you felt, could work as a soothing to the lady's ire?"

"I don't understand why." said Erik. "Surely you speak nonsense?" 

He half hoped Charles was speaking nonsense, if it would prevent what Erik was sure would be a calamitous chain of events should either of them admit to the low burn of more sensitive feeling that had been growing between them these past months.

“She likes your eyes.” Charles said wistfully. “She likes your hair, and the way you go to toil with your laborers, she likes, the dirt by your elbows, and the shape of your legs atop a horse, or standing, or reclining.” Charles nodded once, and continued. “She likes the way you smile, and the way your hands fit around hers, just so when you taught her how to fire a musket.”

Erik had never taught Miss Frost how to fire a musket. 

“She likes the way you walk, with a straight back, and as though you are in command of every room. She likes your wrists, and your stride, and your neck-”

“Miss Frost seems to like a great many things then,” cut in Erik, a wry smile quirking upon his thin lips. “None of which, seem to be an assessment of my spirit.”

“Your spirit?” asked Charles, sounding dismayed.

“Aye, my spirit. Miss Frost seems wholly enamored with that which cannot last, temporal assets, that will fade away as surely as time. Old friend, surely you could not expect me to take a wife as shallow as that?”

“She’s not shallow!” exclaimed Charles. “Having a certain appreciation for aesthetics does not an ignoramus make, perhaps she is a hedonist, and finds that her pleasure in something can be increased ten fold by cherishing all aspects of it.”

“Then what of spirit!?” said Erik, growing passionate. “I don’t much care for pretty words about the slope of my arms or what have you, what is flimsy poetry after all, in the face of a great and depthful novel? I ask again, what of spirit? What of my soul, and my heart, and my being? What of love?”

Charles, for the very first time that morning, looked caught unawares, his deep blue eyes had blown wide in shock, the rose of his mouth, dropped open and loose. There was pink upon his light freckled cheeks, like damask or a pretty haze. 

“What of love?” Charles repeated. 

“Yes.” said Erik. 

“I think he- she I mean, would respond favorably, if she were only to be asked.” replied Charles quietly. 

Erik laughed freely. “Then I should ask, should I not? What is your advice?”

“Ask him.” said Charles emphatically. They stared at each other a long moment, and something so profound and silent transpired that it could not be put to words. They understood each other, in that moment. “Ask him.” Charles repeated. “Ask him.”

Erik made a choked sound, and nodded. 

“There is but one thing...” said Erik. 

Charles expression turned closed abruptly. 

“I have enquired after love, and you have answered. I have enquired after spirit, and you leave me to ponder, in absence of an answer, that which I should know, but do not. How do you plead?”

“You wish me to speak of your spirit, sir?”

Erik nodded. 

“Well, I feel that I can’t rightly say. I rather think you make an egotistic inquiry, and after I have already fed it quite dreadfully.”

“Egotistic!” Erik repeated, outraged. “You must answer me! Don’t hold me in suspense so, I mentioned your boldness, but this is too far.”

Charles chuckled, and stood. He picked up the chess set carefully, and placed it upon a nearby book shelf, before sitting across from Erik, upon the short table-- so close that their knees touched, and should Erik have desired, it would have taken no effort at all to pull at Charles’s hips and have a lapful of the young man within moments. 

He resisted. “What of spirit?”

Charles eyes sparkled mischief. “Oh, sir. I think it rather invigorating.”

“Invigorating?”

“Must you repeat everything I say?” said Charles with some frustration. “Yes, invigorating. Mr Lehnsherr, you invigorate me, and vexate me, and intoxicate me. My spirit feels bound to yours, through means of some unearthly tether, and I think, were it to snap I should stop living. Are these words romantic enough for you?”

Erik considered him for a moment. Charles was one of the most intelligent people he knew, well-read and accomplished, he understood how properly to conduct conversation, educated conversation, on a number of topics that would have seemed alien to Erik. Pretty words, Erik knew, came as part and package of that parcel. The question over wether or not Erik should trust those pretty words. Coming from a female, like Emma Frost or some of the other more sophisticated village girls that lived locally, Erik would have scoffed.

But this was Charles. Charles, who was staring at him, earnestly awaiting a response, hope writ in every line of his face.

It was the hope that Erik found himself most inclined to respond to.

“Do you hold these words to be true?”

“Of course.” said Charles. 

“Then yes.” said Erik, pulling Charles down onto his lap. Charles straddled him obligingly.

“I do so love to feel... invigorated.” Charles whispered.

“I do so love you.” replied Erik.

Charles stared at him very seriously for a moment, before leaning forward and capturing Erik’s lips within his own. 

The kiss was soft, and relatively chaste despite the wantonness of it.

“Do you yield?” Charles said a moment later, leaning his body into Erik’s and speaking directly to him. Cool breathe hit the shell of Erik’s ear and he shivered. 

Charles’s hand traced Erik’s shoulder teasingly, before trailing down the length of his chest, and coming to rest against his thigh. “Do you yield?” Charles repeated. 

“Yes.” Erik choked out as Charles's hand came into contact with his cock. 

“Splendid. I should think we’ll have a short engagement and a small wedding.”

“That’s... not allowed.” Erik panted out.

“Hmm,” murmured Charles. “That’s a shame. Do you always play by the rules, Mr Lehnsherr?”

“Of course.”

“Then how,” said Charles, unbuttoning Erik’s breeches and sliding his hand in. “Do you expect to win?”

Erik gasped, thinking both of how Charles had somehow seduced them into this position, despite Erik having determined himself against it, and the chess game. “You- you. You cheated!”

Charles laughed, and stroked firmly. Erik bucked into the touch and Charles smirked. 

“It’s only cheating if you get caught,” he said. “Otherwise, it’s just playing the game by different rules.”

Erik grabbed the back of his neck roughly. “Vixen.” he muttered, before pulling Charles down into a filthy kiss, there was a heat growing between them, and Erik felt his thighs twitch, and his muscles tighten, there was a tension inside him, baying for release. 

“God, Charles!” he said, before being washed over in the tide of his own pleasure. His vision went white for a few blessed seconds, and he looked to his lover in amazement. 

“A short engagement.” he agreed recklessly. 

“Wonderful.” said Charles. “Fancy another round of chess?” 

Erik nodded, there would of course, be bigger games to play, now that they had fallen in with each other, but, Erik grinned, it would be rather exciting to be on the same team.

Erik took one of Charles’s pawns. Charles grinned, and slid his waist coat off, carefully unbuttoning his cravat for more access. The pale column of his throat revealed, Erik stared blatantly at the soft hollow of his neck. He wanted to bite it, bruise it kiss purple with his mouth and later, to press his fingers against the mark and remind himself about winning and losing. 

He knew that he would be distracted, and lose this round of chess, but that did not mean that he wouldn’t win in the round of whatever came afterwards. 

He grinned at Charles, and thought wistfully to himself; let the games begin.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters. Thankyou for reading.  
> I am on an Austen binge, and so the side effects have been as follows:  
> re read the books,  
> re watch the movies,  
> run out of material,  
> resort to writing my own slashy historical fic.


End file.
